Bucket List
by wellsbells
Summary: Myka has tried all possible treatments, but her cancer is incurable. She realises that there's only one thing on her bucket list - seeing a certain time-travelling genius for one last time. Deals with cancer, suicidal thoughts etc. Angst abounds. (No gays are buried here, however.)
1. Chapter 1

I was dying. I had no illusions any more, and all that was extraneous was pushed away, out of mind where it belonged. I had, primarily for the benefit of everyone else, undertaken every course of treatment, tried every avenue, but now it was official.

"I'm so sorry, Myka, but the treatment hasn't been successful. I'm afraid we've reached the end of our treatment options." The doctor gave me his practised "sympathetic" look. "We need to start talking about palliative care."

I wasn't surprised. I could feel the pain growing outward in new directions, the insidious spread of the cells that would eventually consume me. I had endured all of the treatments, which were much worse than the disease. But now it was time to let go. Not something I'd ever been good at, but something changed in me that day. After breaking the news to Pete, to Claudia, to Steve, to my little family, I had retreated from their tears and overwhelming feelings to my room. I was sitting cross legged on my bed, reading one of my favourite books (hers, of course), when I noticed a new freckle on my wrist. It struck me suddenly that I would never have any more freckles, would never wrinkle and crinkle and grey and become that rosy-cheeked grandmother I had imagined. That time was no longer on my side, if it had ever been. And as it always did when I thought of time, the thought of her came, unbidden.

I tried, after Yellowstone, to get my thoughts on paper, to organise my confused thoughts and work out why she had broken me so completely. I had written epics about the texture of her hair, the darkness of her eyes, all of which I consigned to the fireplace as soon as they were written. But overblown as my words may have been, I could not help but feel that everything about her belonged in a poem. The crinkle of her eyes as she smiled, the smirk and swagger, and the desperate pain in her eyes...I couldn't forget any detail. And suddenly I had to be with her.

The flight was interminable. I fidgeted, chewed my nails, scratched at my skin until I was finally free to drive, to move.

She answered the door and stood like a vision in the quiet of the afternoon. Her eyes widened in shock, taking in the short hair under my beanie hat, but she didn't say anything.

"Is he here?" I heard myself saying, in a hoarse voice I barely recognised.

She shook her head, regarding me silently with dark eyes.

"Adelaide?"

"They're gone for the weekend." It was the first time I had heard her voice in months, and I didn't realise, until then, how much I craved hearing it.

I walked past her, through the doorway into the dark interior of her perfect normal life.

She made tea in the kitchen, bringing it in to the living room where she'd broken me for the second time. She handed the cup to me wordlessly, apparently waiting for me to begin. The silence between us was thick, unyielding. I took a breath to steady myself. She was next to me on the couch, too far away and too close.

"I'm dying."

She stared at me, perfect eyes wide in disbelief, mouth slightly open. I had never seen that expression on her face before. She was normally so unflappable that even her own death hadn't fazed her – she had just smiled softly as she said goodbye. (Artie had been kind enough to eventually share that memory with me, through the use of an artefact that reminded me of the Pensieve in Harry Potter.)

"What happened?" she asked finally, in a whisper. Her eyes were dark, empty.

"Ovarian cancer. I have a few weeks."

Silence again. I couldn't look at her, so I turned away and lost myself in the surface of the tea, honeyed and sweet. I gasped in surprise when her hand touched me softly, hesitantly. Her fingers grazed the fuzz that peeked out from under the hat at the nape of my neck.

"Myka." I could hear the tears in her rich, thick voice.

"I should have been yours." The words left my lips before my brain had a chance to interfere. "I would have been."

I walked out without another word. Right then, I think I would have broken into a thousand pieces if she'd spoken, tried to explain Nate, Adelaide. If she'd tried to tell me that we shouldn't be together, for whatever bullshit reason she'd told herself that led her here. Maybe she was still punishing herself, maybe she was still on her cross; I don't know. Right then, if she'd said a word, I might have put my fist through a wall.

I checked in to a hotel nearby and I got drunk in my room on the contents of the mini-bar. I never normally drink because of Pete, but it seemed appropriate, just then. I was well on my way to shit-faced – I'd already passed buzzed, merry, whatever you wanted to call it. I hadn't spoken to anyone but I knew if I did I would be slurring my words. The room was dark; it seemed fitting, to match my mood.

She slipped into the room silently, not saying a word. I just looked at her expressionlessly. Maybe she'd slipped another transmitter into my pocket, I don't know. But she found me and she picked the lock or worked some technical mojo she'd probably learned from Claudia to get into my room without a key card.

She put her bag on the chair and, without taking her eyes off me, she stripped down to her underwear. She crawled up the bed towards me and it wasn't sexy, it wasn't sensual – it wasn't any of those things. It was desperate and it was sad and as she hovered above me and took the glass of scotch away to put it on the nightstand, I ran my fingers through her hair for the first time.

It was that desire - after she'd saved me with the grappler – that made me realise how I was beginning to feel about her, all that time ago. Because I looked at her hair and I wanted to put my fingers through it. And that wasn't something a secret service agent should be thinking about a potential enemy. It wasn't something I should have been thinking about another woman. And yet, there I was, still out of breath from the panic and from her crushing grip around my midsection, staring at her hair and wondering what it would feel like between my fingers.

Now I knew. It felt cool and smooth like satin or silk and I had never really felt anything like it before. No wonder it always looked so perfect. I could feel the weight of her body against me, warm and somehow crushing, because she was with _him_. I realised that I was staring at her hair and then my eyes met hers. She was looking at me in that way she always did – intense and dark and mysterious – and as it always had, it made my stomach flip over.

"Myka," she whispered, her eyes full of pain, and I shook my head. I didn't want to talk. She looked at me for a long moment, her eyes holding mine, and then she nodded, once.

She kissed me hesitantly and softly, but even so it was the most intimate thing I'd ever experienced. Because what did I have to hide, or to lose, now? Her fingers were in my hair – what was left of it, anyway. It was a fuzzy cap of white that had begun to curl as it got longer. It wouldn't have enough time to get much longer, though. That thought, combined with the feeling of her touching me so lovingly, made me shiver and then I started to cry. I hadn't really cried since the initial diagnosis. Abigail was always saying that I should let my feelings out, that I should cry over what I was losing, that it wasn't healthy. The last time she said that I swore at her because what difference did it make now whether I was emotionally healthy or not, when my body was so emphatically _not_ healthy?

Helena tried to pull away when she felt the moisture on her face but I grabbed the back of her neck, I clung to her and I kissed her with all the pain and desperation I was feeling, and something rose up in me, all of the emotion that she had coaxed from my cautious heart since we met, and after that it was all the things it shouldn't have been – hard, fierce, a little violent. Our first time should have been romantic and beautiful. I'd always imagined her taking care of me, showing me what to do. I imagined that I would be nervous, to make love to a woman for the first time, but I wasn't nervous, or worried. I just wanted what I wanted and I took it. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the fact that I knew that any embarrassment wouldn't matter a jot in a few weeks' time. Whatever it was, we made love to each other desperately rather than lovingly, as it should have been. Afterwards she clung to me, weeping, saying my name brokenly. I held her and I endured as she cried for what we could have been. She cried until she couldn't anymore and then she slept, and for a time I watched her, memorising every inch of her face, her closed eyelids. I kissed her forehead gently and slipped out before she woke. I knew that, if I had my way, we would never speak again.

I took a flight back to South Dakota. Before we took off I contacted Dr Calder and Abigail and asked them to set up a room at the B&B for me with a hospital bed, so that everyone could say their goodbyes. I also emailed the local funeral home to set the arrangements in motion. When I got back to the B&B, I thanked Abigail and Dr Calder, and settled myself into my new room. When Dr Calder was out of the room I stole several vials of morphine and a syringe from her bag. I would give it a few days, but once it became too painful I was going to do this on my terms. I was already wasted to almost nothing. I could barely eat and it was more than likely that I would suffer a bowel obstruction sooner rather than later because of the spread of the cancer. I knew what it was like to be in pain – the last few months had been a lesson in how much pain and humiliation a person could endure. I had no desire to die in even more horrible pain while my friends were forced to watch.

The room was pleasant and cosy and they had brought my bookshelves and belongings downstairs for me. Having a ground floor room made sense, given that they would be carrying me out of there soon enough. There was no sense in adding stairs into the equation. I didn't want to see my parents, to see Tracy. Things had improved between us but I could no more be open with them about all this than I could tell them I was in love with HG Wells, the (female) father of science fiction. I wrote them letters, each of them, to explain why I hadn't told them I had cancer, to explain why I'd chosen to do things this way. They wouldn't understand, no matter what I told them, because they didn't understand me – they never had. I wasn't bitter about that, I just didn't want to waste any more of my limited time dealing with it.

I wrote a letter to Helena. I didn't want to. I was so mad at her that I didn't want to explain anything, but the decent part of me knew that it wasn't fair to just die, to just leave and let her feel like crap for the rest of her life. She spent so much of her time blaming herself about pretty much everything, I didn't want to add to it, no matter how much responsibility she actually bore for breaking my heart. I apologised for what I'd done, for leaving her the way I did, but I told her I didn't want to talk about all that had gone before, how we'd parted in Boone the first time. I told her that I loved her and that I hoped she would have a long and happy life, that she shouldn't feel bad about anything. I probably meant it about 50%. A darker part of me wanted her to break the world in two in revenge for my death, the way she'd wanted to do for Christina. But that part of me, that dark, broken part – that was my anger at life for giving me cancer when all I'd ever tried to do was make the world a better place. All I got in return was a dead boyfriend, an almost girlfriend who'd rejected me for a 'normal' life without even having the decency to tell me about it first, and an incurable disease even though I worked in a place full of magical artefacts. I sealed up the envelopes and I left them in the top drawer of the little cabinet they'd put in the room for me to put my books and things on. They would find them after I'd gone.

I spent most of my time with Pete and Claudia, after that. Artie came in and out of my room, harrumphing and never quite looking me in the eye. Steve stayed back, just coming in when I was alone, knowing that it was Pete and Claudia who knew me best. Abigail stayed back too most of the time, just popping in every now and then to check if I needed anything – food, drink, conversation. The latter I could definitely do without. Pete and Claudia seemed to want to reminisce about every snag we'd ever undertaken together, and all too often Helena's name was mentioned. If Pete noticed that I flinched each time anyone said it, he was kind enough not to mention it. Claudia did notice, and after a while she began to fall silent, more and more often, rather than filling the spaces with her usual witticisms. A few days after I moved into the hospital room, I was beginning to wane. The pain was worse and Dr Calder was starting to give me larger doses of morphine as a matter of necessity. I noticed, even through the drug haze, that Claudia wasn't there as often as she had been. I asked Artie, one day, if she was okay. He avoided my eyes, and said she was fine, and that things were happening at the Warehouse that needed her attention. I should have realised, then, but I just let it go. I figured that if she couldn't bear seeing me like this, I couldn't very well blame her. And I had no intention of letting it go on for much longer. I decided that, whenever I saw her next, I would try to be sober and alert and then I would make it the last time she had to see me. It was time. I was tired, I was suffering, and it was past time. Pete and I had already said our goodbyes – he kissed my cheek and nodded at me seriously each time he left my room, just in case it was the last time.

The following day I waved Dr Calder away when she approached with her bag.

"No drugs today. Not yet. I want to speak to Claudia."

Claudia didn't appear for another few hours, by which time I was in agony. I managed to hide it from Pete, who was keeping me company, but eventually I had to go into my little bathroom and throw up, it hurt so much. I was determined to be present for Claudia one last time, however, so she would have at least one more memory of me as myself before I left her.

When she came in, she wouldn't look at me. I was propped up with pillows but I was mostly upright. We talked for a little while about what she was doing at the Warehouse, but she wouldn't talk about it except in vague terms, so I gave up asking about it. Pete was avoiding looking me in the eye, too. I just let it all go and said what I had waited to say to her.

"Listen, Claud – you know I love you, right?" I said, leaning forward a little and taking her hand. She looked at me warily.

"Yeah…"

"I just want you to know that I have done everything to stay here, to be here for you. To see the amazing woman I know you're going to grow into."

Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away angrily.

"I…I know, Mykes. I hate this…but I know. I'm sorry I haven't been here, but…" she trailed off, more tears making their way down her cheeks and smearing her eyeliner.

"I understand," I said, even though I didn't, not really. I knew it was hard for her being around someone so ill, in a room that looked so much like a hospital, after her losing her family so traumatically. But I had still thought she would want to be here as much as possible, to say goodbye. I wasn't hurt – I'm not sure I had the capacity to be hurt at that point. I was drained of emotion after my time with Helena, not to mention the small fact that I was dying.

We stayed like that for a long time, just holding hands, not talking. Dr Calder came in after a while and raised an eyebrow at me questioningly. I nodded, defeated, and she injected a large dose of morphine into my IV. The relief almost made me weep. I managed to tell Claudia again that I loved her, and then I guess I fell asleep. It was fully my intention, once Claudia left, to pump my IV full of the stolen morphine so that I could drift off painlessly. I realise it might sound like the coward's way out, but after the endless treatments, the illness, everything I had endured, I had nothing left. I was dying and it mattered to me _how_ I did that. I didn't have much in the way of choice left, but _that,_ I wanted to control. I didn't want to weaken and fade and scream until they had to pump enough morphine into me to kill me anyway. I wanted to go quickly, painlessly.

My friends had other plans. When I woke I was in the Warehouse, and I was in pain. So much pain. The morphine was wearing off and I was in Pete's arms. I could feel this new, more intense pain in my abdomen beginning to burn through me and that's when I realised that someone was cutting into me with a knife. I could only just keep my eyes open, and as I looked at my abdomen, at the knife, I saw a hand wielding it. The hand on the knife wasn't familiar, and it was being guided by a smaller, thinner one clad in a purple glove. I think I heard myself scream before I passed out from shock.

I woke up two days later, in my own bed, in my old room. I could tell it was my bed because it has this loose spring that digs into my lower back, just above my ass. I wasn't in pain. I felt…different. I was tired. But not how I had been; not that drained, dragging tiredness that the disease and the drugs brought with them. I was just tired, like I'd run for too long the day before. I took a deep breath and my stomach didn't hurt. I moved my head slightly and realised that my long hair was caught underneath my shoulders. I had long hair. Something wasn't right about that, but I was a little too sluggish to work out what. I began to think about opening my eyes, and as I tried to move them I heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Myka?"

It was a whisper, in case I wasn't awake, I supposed. I opened my eyes cautiously. It was dim inside my room and I was almost buried under the sheets and blankets and pillows that were piled around me. The voice was Helena's. I turned to look at her, my eyebrow raised in confusion. What the hell was I doing here? I did notice, however, that she looked exhausted. Her face was drawn, her eyes heavily shadowed and her clothes rumpled. For once she looked less than put together and I had an awful thought. I coughed to clear my throat.

"Did you…did you use Mary Mallon's butcher knife?"

She nodded, but when my mouth opened to yell at her she held up her hand.

"Let me explain, before you freak out on me," she said, and as she knew it would, that stopped me in my tracks. Because since when did HG Wells speak like that? Those were Claudia's words, I was sure. I nodded for her to continue, one eyebrow raised, and my teeth gritted.

"After you…when you left Boone," she paused to take a breath, her face pained. "I called Claudia, and we spoke for some time. We decided to see if there was anything we could do, artefact related or otherwise, to prolong your life, or preferably to save it. I came here five days ago. I've been staying in my room in the Dead Agent's Vault, with Arthur's permission. We worked on several ideas, and discarded most of them straightaway. Claudia, however, came up with an idea. What if we could use Mary Mallon's knife without transferring the effects? Or rather, what if we transferred your illness to someone who was not, technically, alive? It took some time, and several different artefacts combined with a nifty little piece of technology that Claudia and I designed to unBronze part, but not all, of a body for a short time. The hand, to be specific."

My mouth fell open. Had they…?

"Yes, Myka. We partially unBronzed one of the evilest people this earth has ever had the misfortune to house, gave them your cancer, and sealed them back up in their tomb. They will never know, and if by some incredible misfortune they are let out, they will die very shortly after. And not one of us, least of all you, should have any problem with that whatsoever. Your cancer is now residing in a state of suspended animation within the body of someone who fully deserves it, should they ever be released from their prison. The Regents agreed and fully endorsed our actions, for a change. Mrs Frederic was most persuasive, I understand."

I stared at her for a moment, my heart thundering. I had thought, because of her pallor, her unkempt clothes, that she had taken it for me.

"I thought you used it. You look awful," I managed.

She smiled wryly.

"Thank you, my darling. I do, rather, don't I? I'm simply tired, however. I haven't slept for more than a few hours at a time since you left my side in Boone."

I nodded, taking deep breaths. It was nice to be able to do that, I realised. I don't think I'd taken a deep breath for months.

"I know you well enough to realise that, had I used the butcher knife myself and taken your illness, you would never have forgiven me. And after…after our night together, I couldn't bear the thought of you looking at me that way again – the way you looked at me that night on Nathan's driveway."

"What way?" I asked quietly.

"Like I had broken your heart and given you back the shards."

I stared at her for the longest time. I couldn't think of a thing to say to that. If she had died in my place – I think I would have died anyway. I would never have forgiven her – she was right about that. To watch her die again, just so I could live? It was unthinkable.

I lifted the bedcovers in invitation, looking at her steadily.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes."

She pulled off her jacket and stepped out of her shoes and then climbed in beside me. I tucked my arm around her shoulders and pulled her against me. I didn't know what to think, how to act, but I knew that I needed this, for as long as I could have it. The spectre of her perfect normal life was looming and I wasn't ready to face it yet.

She eased a little closer, putting her face against my neck. She put her arm around my waist and pulled me against her and then she sighed deeply, contentedly. I put my nose to her hair, taking in that scent of her, and closed my eyes for a time. I don't know how long for, but her breathing fell into a steady rhythm quickly and she slept. My mind was racing. It had taken a long time for me to adjust myself to the reality of my own death. I had no idea, now, how to adjust to the reality of living. And I didn't know if she was going to stay. I was fairly sure she wasn't. I had no desire to be handed the shards of my heart again. I would rather have died; that was the simple truth of it.

I slept for a while, drawn in by her steady breathing and the soft, warm body against mine. A soft knock at the door woke me, and I opened my eyes to find Abigail peeking in, a tray in her arms.

"Hey," I said, quietly, trying not to wake the woman in my arms.

"Hi," she said in reply, just as softly. "I thought you might like some tea and maybe something to eat. Helena's barely eaten or slept."

I looked at the sleeping woman next to me and nodded.

"I figured as much. I don't think I've ever seen her looking so bad."

"She left him, you know. Straight after you left her there, she went home and packed. She talked to Claudia and got on the next flight. She told me, after they saved you, that she knew she belonged here – that she'd always known. That you nearly dying had simply been the catalyst. She was so lost, after Emily Lake, the astrolabe… I am telling you this, Myka, because I know you won't ask. That you will suffer in silence and wait to be told that she's leaving again. And I don't know her well, Myka, but I believe she is sincere – that she's staying, for you."

Abigail's face was sympathetic and open. I just stared. I didn't believe it, any of it. Because it was too much like the happy ending from a Disney movie. My true love sweeps in, saves me from death and comes back to me all in one fell swoop? Maybe that happened, for some people, but not for me. It never had and I doubted it was about to start for me now. All I knew was losing the people I loved. There were so few of them now, and even though she was in my arms now, there was no guarantee that she would stay. She would freak out again and go and I would be left here, with my friends, yes, but alone.

"Thank you, Abigail," was all I said, but my tone was tight and my face was blank. She took it as the dismissal it was, and left the tray behind – tea, sandwiches and some of Artie's cookies, by the smell.

"Myka?"

I looked at the top of her head, kissed it gently.

"Yes, it's me."

She hugged me closer, pressing her face into my neck.

"I dreamed…I had a dream, that you were gone. That I was too late."

"I'm here," I murmured into her hair.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, her clinging to me and me breathing her in.

"She's right, you know," she whispered into the silence.

"Who?" I asked, puzzled. I had been adrift, relaxed by her presence, lost in my own mind.

"Abigail. I left Nate and Adelaide, and I am staying. Whether you…want me, or you do not, I will remain at the Warehouse. I can…I will stay away from you, if that is what you wish. But I belong here, and I am sorry I ever left. I am sorry I left you."

Her face was still buried in my neck, and I could feel her lips move against my skin as she spoke. I couldn't see her expression, but I could feel her brow wrinkling up in worry as she spoke.

"Helena. I was dying. I…give me five minutes, will you? Just to get used to the fact that I _have_ a future, before I go making any decisions or promises."

She nodded, still not looking at me.

"Can we just…have this, for now? Please?" I whispered. She nodded again, and brushed a kiss against my neck. It whispered against my skin and it made me shiver.

"I love you," I said.

She sat up, turning to stare at me.

"What?"

"I love you," I repeated.

"But you just said…"

"I know what I said. And I know that I love you. I just…I just wanted to say it. Even if it's just this once."

She stared at me.

"I…okay."

She turned to the tray that Abigail had left and sat up, busying herself with fixing her tea as she liked it. I smiled. She was so…English, when it came to tea. She passed me a cup and I sat up, sipping the hot drink.

"The feeling is mutual. In case I needed to clarify that," she said, between sips of tea and small frowns of concentration as she added extra honey to the camomile tea.

"I'm glad to hear you say that. Could you pass me a sandwich?"

She sputtered a little, and then did as I asked. Maybe I wasn't treating this the way I should, but I guess being brought back to life would do that to a person. I ate my sandwich – cheese and some sort of relish, or a chutney, maybe? It was pretty good, a little dry but okay when combined with the tea. I sat back a little with a sigh and closed my eyes, finishing my tea quickly. I lay down, relaxing my body and taking deep breaths, revelling in my body being whole again. It was so weird to be so sick and to feel that my body was on the cusp of death, and then to wake up and be back to what I used to be. It felt like a second chance. I didn't know what I wanted to make of that chance, however. As always, my thoughts came back to her. Was she for real, this time? Or would I wake up tomorrow and find out that she was in Nebraska living as a hotel manager, or barefoot and pregnant in Iowa?

It took her a while longer before she finished her tea. I could hear her moving around restlessly and eventually she spoke again.

"Do you…" she sighed and trailed off. I lifted my arm up without opening my eyes, and she snuggled into my body wordlessly.

"Relax, Helena. Apparently I'm going to live so we have some time."

She sighed and kissed my neck again. She relaxed against me and I turned my body in to hers, pulling her closer. I couldn't believe that she was here. And having her in my arms was just…it felt right, but fragile. Like she could be taken away at any time, or leave at any time. I wanted it so badly, but I didn't trust it. She kissed me again, her mouth moving restlessly against my skin, and I turned my head to meet her lips with mine. I could feel her uncertainty, her hesitation, in the way she kissed me back. I moved away, sitting up and putting my head in my hands.

"Okay, so I guess we're talking about this now," I sighed.

"Myka, I…I'm so sorry, for what I did. I shouldn't have left. I hoped that you would understand, at least in part." She really did sound sorry, and for some reason that infuriated me.

"I do, Helena. I totally understand that after everything that happened to you, you would need time to find yourself. But I hate it. I hate it that you left without telling me, that you didn't tell me you were staying away, that you didn't have the decency to contact me at all. I was so worried about you, and then you only called because of…because of an _artefact?"_ I yelled that last word incredulously and then I got out of bed and started pacing before continuing. "I know I don't need to ask if you would have called otherwise, because I know you wouldn't have. I hate that you were okay with me being here, not knowing where you were, and thinking that you could be dead or in some Regent prison. Because no-one would tell me, Helena. I hate that it took me dying for you to come back. And I hate that you took my choice away, that you made the decision to use an artefact to save me without asking me. I hate that I can't trust a damn word that comes out of your mouth. Does that cover everything?"

My voice had been steadily rising during my little diatribe, and by the end of it I was almost shouting. She was staring at me with tears in her eyes.

I stared back for a moment, and then I stripped quickly. I found my running gear, which I hadn't used for almost a year, and I dressed and left the room without looking back. I didn't encounter anyone on my way out and I ran until my lungs were burning and my legs were shaking. Then I sat down where I was and I cried until I couldn't breathe.

Three days later, she hadn't thought of anything to say to me. I knew she was still there, probably still staying at the Warehouse. I had seen her disappear when I arrived at the Warehouse on the second day after my miraculous recovery – she took one look at me and left the office, heading into the body of the Warehouse. Artie, however, had chased me out straight away, saying I needed more time to allow myself to readjust before I went back to work. Abigail was giving me the side-eye that meant she thought I needed to talk. And everyone else was just plain walking on eggshells. It made me want to swear and shout and fight. They had gone to all this effort to make sure I stayed alive, and now not a single one of them could stand to be in the same room as me. So I did something stupid. I went to Wisconsin.


	2. Chapter 2

_Newly cured from cancer, angry and lost, Myka drives to Wisconsin. Why? She doesn't know._

* * *

I didn't know that's where I was headed when I drove away from the B&B. I just knew that I needed to go somewhere. I drove and I drove, listening to some shitty rock station that Pete liked at top volume, and I was almost in Minnesota when I realised where I was headed. I stopped off a few times to stretch my legs but I still made it in less than 9 hours. I don't think Nate knew who I was when I knocked on his door, but his daughter stuck her head past his elbow in the doorway and smiled.

"Hi, Myka. It's Helena's friend, Myka, Dad! Remember?"

His face darkened and I figured that meant he did remember.

"Come in, please," he said, his face saying something quite different.

"Adelaide, can you go finish your homework, please?" he said over his shoulder to the kid, who was lingering, obviously curious as to what I was doing there. I confess I was a little curious myself. I don't usually go looking for conflict, but it seemed like my brush with death had taken care of that little character quirk. I didn't give a shit, at that point.

"Why are you here?" he asked, brusquely.

"I don't know."

He peered at me from under his neanderthalic brow.

"I'll make some tea," he said.

I nodded, and examined the place carefully as he did so. There were no pictures of her, like there had been when I came here last. Which I guess was understandable. The last time I was in this room, it was when I realised that Helena was living here, living this 'normal' life that she apparently desperately craved. I had been waiting, in pain, in fear, thinking she had been imprisoned or worse by the Regents. And I had been too cowardly to open my damn mouth and demand to have her back, to have her safe. But then I got to Boone, and like she said, she broke my heart and gave me back the shards.

He came back and handed me a cup of raspberry and quince tea, or whatever it was Helena had said the kid liked. I took a cautious sip and reluctantly decided I liked it. He stood by the window, holding his cup gingerly, his giant man-hands dwarfing the delicate china.

"I knew, the last time you were here," he said, conversationally.

"Knew what?" I asked.

"That you loved her. That she loved you. I just didn't want to know. I would have been happy for her to carry on pretending to love me."

"Why would you be okay with that?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Because she really did – does – love Adelaide, and Adelaide deserves that."

"She does love Adelaide," was all I said to that.

"But when you and your partner were here, I saw her face when she looked at you, and I realised she would never love me like that. It was the beginning of the end, even then. I was just waiting for her to tell me."

He was peering into his tea, his jaw tense.

"So why are you here, when she's there? She chose you over us."

"I know. But I'm not sure I want to be chosen, not like this."

"Because you're sick?"

I nodded. I wasn't going to explain my miraculous recovery – he already knew more about the Warehouse than he should.

"It was just the final nail in the coffin – if you'll excuse the expression." He had the grace to look embarrassed at that slip – after all, as far as he knew, I was going to be inhabiting a coffin pretty soon. "She was already halfway out the door after that night, Agent Bering. It just took her brain a while to catch up with her heart."

He took a breath.

"Why…why did you let her come here, start up this relationship with me, if you were in love with her?" he asked – no, _demanded_.

"I…I didn't have a choice. The people we work for – they call the shots. I didn't have any input into the decision. I didn't even know where she was."

He stared at me, his mouth open. Then he looked angry.

"That's complete bullshit, Agent Bering. If you really cared about her, you would have followed her here. If I thought I had any chance with her, I would have followed her _anywhere_. Did it ever occur to you that she was waiting for you to find her, to bring her home? Because it was pretty clear to me, after you left, that she was. She would sit in here some nights with all the lights off, just looking outside as if you were going to materialise on the driveway or something. And you never came back."

I stared at him for a moment longer, and then finished my tea. I had intruded on this man and his daughter for long enough.

"Thank you for speaking to me," I said, standing up awkwardly.

He stood up too, looking at his feet.

"Agent Bering. Don't mess this up. Women like her – they don't come along very often."

 _Yeah, buddy. You don't know the half of it._

I stuck out my hand and he shook it, catching my eye for a moment.

"Goodbye, Nate."

I drove off, pulling over almost immediately to answer a call from Pete on the Farnsworth, which I'd left in the car. He was panicking about where I was. I told him I was just taking a long drive and he eventually calmed down. But his panic somehow calmed me. I think I was feeling…rootless, because I had already said goodbye to them all, and somehow Artie chasing me out of the Warehouse a few days before had exacerbated it. I felt like I had no place in the world because I'd already let it go. But Pete hadn't let me go, and that made me feel a little more like myself.

It took forever to get back, now that I actually wanted to be there. It was after midnight when I pulled up at the B&B, and all the lights were out. I decided to sit outside for a while, and I made myself some tea (Assam, not the kid's favourite this time). I opened the French doors and sat, and then I realised there was someone sitting there in the darkness.

"Myka," she said, inclining her head slightly, her own hands wrapped around her cup of tea.

"Hey," I managed, taking a sip of my tea to regain my equilibrium. I hadn't expected to see her until the next day at least, and I hadn't formulated a plan of what to say.

"So you went to see Nathan?"

I turned to look at her.

"He called you?"

She smiled, her lips curving up in that beautiful way that I'd craved for such a long time.

"No. Adelaide, actually. She sent me a text message."

"You're getting good with these new technologies," I said, inanely.

"Well, between Claudia and Adelaide, I've had good teachers."

I just nodded. More tea, and more silence.

"Did you learn anything useful during your journey to Wisconsin?"

"I guess."

"Anything you'd like to share?"

I got a little fed up, I admit.

"Is there anything you'd like to share, Helena? Like why you went there in the first place? Without having the decency to tell me where you were?"

She looked at me with that annoyingly calm face she probably perfected in the Bronze sector. (Not that she really had a choice in the matter, I guess.)

"I recall trying to explain exactly that a few days ago before you ran off."

"Yes, well, excuse me for having feelings."

She just looked at me again for a long moment.

"Do you want to talk, Myka, or would prefer to just take potshots at me like a teenager fighting with a parent?"

I flushed. I was being a little teenage-y. But I was so damn pissed at her I could barely speak. She continued, her tone biting.

"Well, how's this for a potshot? The woman I am in love with comes to visit, after telling me to make my home with someone else, and tells me she's dying. Then she runs away, and when I find her, she fucks me and leaves me alone in bed in a hotel room without so much as a good-bye. And then I find out that she was planning to kill herself. Did I leave anything out of that summary?"

I stared at her.

"How did you…?"

She shook her head a little, perhaps in disgust, before answering.

"Vanessa. She knew you'd taken the morphine. She told Artie and Mrs Frederic and they agreed that it was your decision how you died. But only if we couldn't save you. They switched the vials to saline solution just in case you pre-empted our attempt to save you."

I swore under my breath.

"You see, Myka, I understand the mistake I made. I decided in my fear that you were in danger any time I was around, so I resolved to be elsewhere. I did not want to subject you to another chess lock. I almost killed you twice that day, if you remember."

I wanted to yell at her. She had saved me that day, me and everyone else, later, when she sacrificed her life to save us in the alternate timeline. When she glared at me, however, I decided it might be wise to keep my mouth shut.

"I love you, Myka. Whatever decisions I made in fear, I apologise for. I have been a coward and I have hidden myself away from you, and from what you represent. Because after everything I have lived through I can barely believe that I deserve to be happy. And I am so happy with you that it terrifies me. The last time I was that happy, it was taken from me."

She sighed and brushed her hair away from her face. She was so beautiful that it made my heart twist. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to move forward. I'd already said goodbye to the world, and it didn't feel, to me, like anyone except Pete and Claudia were really that interested in whether I was here or not.

I stood up.

"I'm going to bed, Helena. You can come with me, or not. It's up to you. I just…I can't talk, not anymore."

She followed me.

We slept together – just slept – that night, and in the morning we didn't speak until after breakfast. Abigail eyed us curiously when we came down together, but said nothing. She was finally resigned to making breakfast, despite her protests that she would never feed us because we were all adults. There were several choices – oatmeal, eggs, or pastries. I took a chocolate croissant, again getting curious looks from the psychologist, but I felt like living a little. I'd been controlling so much of my life, so rigidly. What did it matter if I ate something sugary or fatty occasionally? I still got cancer, even though I really looked after my health and my body. So screw it.

When we finished breakfast, Helena was eyeing me warily.

"Shall we go and talk?" I asked, and she nodded. I led her back upstairs, one hand in mine, and when we got through the door I kissed her.

" _This_ is not talking, Myka," she said sternly when I pulled away several minutes later.

"I know," I said, shrugging. "So sue me."

She smiled at that, and suddenly things seemed a little easier. I sat on the bed and she sat next to me.

"So, what do you want from me, Myka? Do you want me to go? I have nowhere to go but the Warehouse, but if it's what you want I will stay there, and I'll stay out of your way as much as possible." She spoke gently, but with an undertone of frustration.

More self-sacrificing crap – great.

"Helena, what do _you_ want?" I asked, exasperated. "Why did you come back here, apart from to save my life? What did you think would happen?"

She looked away from me, biting her lip.

"I hoped…that we might – that you might want me. I wasn't sure, after you left me in Wisconsin. Obviously you _wanted_ me, but whether you wanted a relationship with me – that part I wasn't clear on."

"How could you not know? Have I not made myself embarrassingly, glaringly obvious, Helena?"

She stared at me, and for once, she looked uncertain.

"You left me, Myka. We slept together for the first time, I fell asleep crying in your arms because I was so frightened of losing you, and I woke the next morning alone. You left no note, no encouragement to contact you. And when I got here, Vanessa told me about your intentions. So no, you have not made yourself _clear_ , Myka. The last time we met, before last week, you told me to make Nate's home my home. You have never told me how you felt, not until a few nights ago. You might just have wanted a last hurrah with the father of science fiction, for all I knew."

I bit back the flood of swear words that were threatening to make their way out of me. A last hurrah? If I'd just wanted to bang someone I could have gone to the nearest bar – I guess I might have had to find someone who would sleep with me out of pity, since cancer hadn't exactly enhanced my looks towards the end. I thought for a moment, though, about what she had said. It was disingenuous of her to say that she didn't know how I felt. It was unspoken, sure, but it was obvious. But the rest I could understand. It was pretty out of character for me to have sex with anyone – let alone her - and just leave. But I didn't have the words to explain what she meant to me, and it seemed pointless to try when I was going to be gone so soon anyway. I could understand her doubting herself in the face of my disappearing act. I took a deep breath before speaking.

"Okay. I can accept that maybe you weren't sure about my motives. And I am sorry, for what it's worth, for leaving after our night together. But I wasn't…I'm not okay, Helena. I was ready to die. I had let go of everything and everyone and now I just don't know what the hell to do with myself."

I paused to take another deep breath and get some control over myself.

"You knew how I felt. You can't say that you didn't. If you want me to, I can get Steve to come up and he will confirm it. You knew. And you still left me and went to play house with some random guy, just because his daughter was bright and clever and reminded you of Christina. I didn't know where you were, Helena. No-one told me anything. You were just gone."

I took a deep breath, my throat closing a little against the pain and anger I was still feeling about the way she'd left, and the way I'd found her again.

"He said something, you know, when I went there - Nate. He said that you were waiting for me, that I should have gone to you, no matter what the Regents said, or Mrs Frederic or whoever. I should have fought for you. But I didn't. And then I got sick, and it seemed like there was no point anymore. I only went when they told me there were no more treatments, because I couldn't bear to be without you anymore. So I'm sorry, for what I said, what I didn't say. I don't know what life I can offer you, if you want to be 'normal' and all that, but I still want you. I love you."

I felt broken. I didn't know what my purpose was, not anymore. Even after our artefact snag in Boone I hadn't felt this lost. I felt like I had lost every link I had to the world, and now I didn't know what the hell to do with myself.

"I have a little experience, Myka, of being alone in the world, with no tether."

Her voice was softer, and she had turned to me, her eyes meeting mine.

"You became my tether when I needed one. Let me be yours. The rest will come in its own time."

I nodded. She leaned over and kissed me softly. Her voice, her lips – they were so gentle that I felt my eyes fill with tears.

"I love you, Myka. And even if you blame me for it, I'm not sorry I saved your life. Because you mean everything to me. I promise never to leave you again if it is within my power."

It was another chance, I suppose.

"You better mean that, Helena. Because I don't think I can survive it again."

She met my eyes and nodded. I could tell that she meant it. Whether she would always mean it, I couldn't say. But I chose to take the promise for what it was, and I leaned over and kissed her, slowly, allowing myself to enjoy every sensation, the way her eyes closed and her eyelids fluttered slightly at my breath on her lips, the small noises she made, the way her tongue touched mine gently and then playfully.

I drew away from her after a moment. It was amazing, touching her, kissing her, but it was overwhelming and I wanted to just lose myself in her. It was too much right then with everything else that was going on in my mind.

"I…can we just…be friends, for a little while? Because I'm a little confused right now, Helena. I don't know what I want. I want…I _need_ you to stay with me, though. Don't go. I need to know you're here."

She looked at me, those dark eyes holding mine, making my heart pound again, and simply nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

_Myka and Helena take a trip and Myka lets some of her anger out._

* * *

We stayed in my room for the rest of that day, reading and talking, occasionally, avoiding the whole issue of her running off and hiding in the suburbs. We went down for dinner later, and Pete kept giving me the side-eye. After a while, I dragged him outside.

"What the hell, Pete?" I hissed.

"Sorry, Mykes," he said, wearing an apologetic grimace. Then he grinned, and I knew he was going to say something annoying or inappropriate or both. "Me and Claud were just wondering whether you and HG went to 'lady church' yet. You know, now you're lesbyterians and all…"

Inappropriate it was.

"For God's sake, Pete! As if I would tell you even if we had?!" I raised my hands and eyes to heaven in supplication to whatever God had saddled me with this man-child.

"I knew it!" he said, smugly. "You so haven't. Claudia owes me fifty bucks!"

I punched him on the arm, and he ran off, presumably to collect on his bet with Claudia. Not that I was going to correct him about anything to do with my sex life, now or ever. Lesbyterians?

Claudia came out after a few minutes and apologised for Pete being such a giant child.

"I don't want to know about your sex life, Myka. I'm just glad you _have_ a life," she said, sincerely, giving me one of her rare hugs.

"Thank you, Claudia. For what you and Helena did," I said against her hair. I didn't mean it, not really. But I could fake sincerity. She was trying to help. I didn't know why I didn't think of them saving my life as actually helping me, but I didn't. She drew back, smiling at me.

"Are you going to forgive her? For the whole 'NateGate' thing?" she asked, doing quotation marks with her fingers. I laughed. It was pretty funny.

"I don't know, Claudia. I'm going to try," I said honestly. I caught Helena watching me from inside, her eyes carefully void of emotion, the way they had been when we'd first met, before she'd opened up to me about Christina.

When we went to bed that night, she settled against me like a second skin, and the way her body fitted against mine felt right. It was a little less tenuous, a little more permanent. I decided to enjoy it while I could, and pulled her a little closer, holding her tightly as I drifted off to sleep with the scent of her filling my nostrils.

Artie took me aside the next morning and told me to take some time off with Thing 2, as he occasionally referred to Helena. He said the Warehouse would cover tickets to wherever we wanted to go, within reason. I stared at him for a moment, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He met my gaze evenly, pushing his glasses up with one finger in that way he did when he was uncomfortable.

"Abigail is worried. Helena is worried. _I_ am worried. You are not yourself, Myka. So take a week, take two. Get some rest, and come back when you're ready. The Warehouse will still be here when you get back."

For some reason, his kindness made something in me twist out of control for a second, and my eyes filled. He stepped forward and gave me a gentle hug.

"Take care of her," he said to Helena after he'd released me from the unexpected embrace. She nodded at him solemnly.

We went to Colorado. I didn't really want to see my parents or Tracy and her family, but Helena insisted that we go to see them at least once, to remind me that I had family, that I had a tether. First of all, though, we went hiking and skiing and even horse riding together. It was like a goddam tampon commercial. We didn't talk much about us or what had gone before, but we enjoyed each other's company and the quiet relaxation together. She was a surprisingly good skier. I was hoping that she would be terrible at it, but I should have known better. HG Wells wasn't terrible at anything, so far as I could discern.

We were staying in a chalet at Bell Rock with a beautiful view of Pikes Peak. There were several bedrooms but by tacit agreement we were sharing the main bedroom. Having her wrapped around me every night was making it easier to breathe, somehow. I still didn't quite believe that she meant to stay with me, not after Boone – or specifically, how much finding her in Boone had shocked me. Because after Sykes and the Warehouse, I had believed, foolishly, that the something between us that had remained unspoken for so long was going to finally come to fruition. Her betrayal at Yellowstone had surprised me, but in retrospect it shouldn't have – all the warning signs were there. I'd just chosen to ignore them because of my infatuation with her. Boone, however, had come out of nowhere. After she saved my life in Hong Kong and we'd all come out of the Warehouse alive, I'd expected the Regents to question her, at least, but I also expected them to let her go. When she didn't reappear, I thought they had imprisoned her again, and the next time I met her she was in a police station in Wisconsin acting like she didn't want to know me anymore. And when I met Nate…it was like someone had physically reached down my throat and ripped out my still-beating heart. I never, ever wanted to feel like that again.

"I'm not going anywhere, Myka," she said, suddenly.

It was the middle of the night and she was tucked up under my arm. I was staring at the ceiling, running things over and over in my mind. I had thought she was asleep. I turned my head to meet her eyes.

"I know you don't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either, were I you. But I mean it. I love you, and I want to be with you for as long as you'll have me. I only hope you will believe me, someday."

Her eyes were sincere. I could detect no doubt or dissembling in them. But my heart still wouldn't believe it.

"I hope so too," I said, heavily.

Another few days passed and she eventually insisted on us going to see my mom and dad. I didn't want to but she was insistent.

"I'll go on my own, Myka, and I'll bloody tell them where you are. Just get a grip. At least you have a family!"

I rolled my eyes at that. She was pulling the poor tetherless Victorian card again, but I went with it just to shut her up. My parents were surprised to see me, but it was a Sunday so the bookshop was closed, and they gave me, for a change, their full attention. Helena charmed them, as she is so good at doing, and after a few minutes she had engaged my dad in a lively discussion about Charles Dickens.

My mom came to sit by me as Helena and my dad chattered enthusiastically.

"What's going on, Myka?" she asked quietly.

I looked up at her eyes, so similar to mine, and tried to smile reassuringly. I don't think I succeeded, because her brow furrowed straight away.

"Talk to me, honey," she said, her tone soft as it had been when Tracy and I were kids. That tone undid my control, and I started to cry silently.

"I'm sorry, mom. I should have told you. I'm okay, so you don't need to worry. But I had cancer. It…it was bad. It was terminal. I should have told you, I'm sorry. My job…you know I can't talk about it, but something happened and they fixed it. I'm okay."

She was staring at me, my mom, her face confused and frightened, but something in my tone convinced her that I was okay – physically, at least. She pulled me close and put her arms around me and I cried like I hadn't done since I was a little girl. I could hear my dad raising his voice in concern, and Helena's soft voice explaining, but I couldn't really talk or think. My mom just rocked me in her arms, telling me she loved me and that everything was going to be okay.

A little later my dad awkwardly showed me some photographs of Tracy and me from when we were kids. I hadn't seen them before, and I was surprised to see how affectionate we were with each other when we were younger. All I could remember were the teenage years, the fighting and the way my dad always treated her like she was perfect and me like I was a disappointment. My dad was more emotional that day than I'd ever seen, smiling at the pictures and wiping away tears at one or two. Helena sat next to me and hugged me to her as we looked through the photos. I know my dad noticed but he didn't say anything about our intimacy, something for which I was grateful. I didn't even know what it meant; I had no idea how to explain it to him.

They insisted we stayed for dinner, and my mom made some of my old favourites – her lasagne, and the strawberry and cream cheesecake she'd always made for my birthdays. Helena kept the conversation going, thank god, because I think after my crying jag I was all out of energy. We took off a while after dinner and she drove us back to Bell Rock. I dozed a little on the way, but when we got there I took her hand and looked at her for a moment.

"Thank you," I said, quietly.

"For what?"

"For making me go there. It helped."

I didn't really want to admit it, but it had helped. Knowing that they cared was a comfort and made me feel more grounded. She just smiled and nodded.

That night I let her hold me, and I buried my face in her neck and cried myself to sleep silently as she stroked my hair and whispered nonsense.

The following morning I felt awkward. I felt as if, by allowing her to comfort me, I had given something away that I hadn't when we slept together. In a way, I suppose I had. The night in my hotel room in Boone had been more about me taking something than giving anything away. I didn't want to give anything of myself to her; I was too wary that she would take off on me again. I wondered if I would ever trust her with my heart.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, as I drew away from her.

We were still in bed, and I had been enveloped in her arms. But I was drawing away and I was getting out of bed, and she knew something was amiss. I didn't have anything to say, so I simply shook my head and went into the bathroom to shower. I didn't expect her to get in with me. She wrapped herself around me and kissed the back of my neck. I shivered and I swear I felt that kiss on every inch of my skin.

"I love you," was all she said.

I turned in her arms and looked into her eyes. I wasn't like Pete; I couldn't read people the way he could. But I could see in her eyes how much she meant it.

"I'm sorry. I just don't trust you not to leave me again," I said, eyes downcast. She lifted my chin with a finger, making me meet her eyes.

"I understand. But I have every intention of proving to you that there is nowhere else I would rather be."

I nodded, and she kissed me gently before stepping out of the shower, wrapping herself in a robe before walking out. I looked at myself in the mirror, my reflection distorted with steam. My body was healthy, my hair long. I couldn't get used to it, after the hell of the cancer treatments, the steroids, the radiation. Sure, I was okay – my ruined body was whole again. But I looked at it and I felt like I was looking at someone else's body. After a long moment, I turned back to the shower head, closing my eyes and tilting my head back under the stream of hot water.

A few days passed in that quiet haze. While I enjoyed what we were doing together, the walks, the reading – there was still so much itching under my skin. The cancer was gone, and I had no idea what to do with myself. My hands were idle, and idle hands have never suited me. Helena noticed and tried to help, tried to distract me. We did crosswords, we read multiple books, we went for long walks. But eventually it was too much. I had all this anger, this pent up stuff inside. I didn't know how to handle it, and I blamed her. I blamed her for saving my life when I had been so ready for it to be over. I never thought I would be the kind to have a death wish. I guess that wasn't exactly what it was in the end – I mean, I didn't have a choice in getting cancer. But once I had and it was terminal, I had found some comfort in the fact that my life was finite in a very tangible way. It made me feel in control, somehow, that I knew that the end was coming and that my time was measured in weeks. Helena eventually broke, as I knew she would, becoming impatient with my sighs and the incessant tapping of my fingernails on whatever surface happened to be nearby.

"Spit it out, Myka, will you?" she said, after we'd finished dinner on the porch one evening. I had been drumming my fingernails on the edge of the wooden table and had let out another sigh.

"Sorry," I muttered, not really sorry at all. I tried not to stick my chin out at her, but I was sulking and I suppose I knew it.

"Whatever it is, let's have it," she said, turning away from the view of the Rockies and glaring at me. "I'm tired of the sighs, of the tapping, of you looking at me like that when you think I'm not looking. Just get it off your chest."

I looked at her, biting the inside of my lip to try and keep it inside. I wanted to let loose, to tell her she had no right to save me the way she did. But I also didn't want to lose her. If I was going to carry on living, I couldn't envision a life that didn't include her. But I was so mad, all the time. If it wasn't about the cancer, it was about NateGate. The great Boone fiasco of 2013. I clamped my jaws tight to keep in the words that I didn't want to say, the rage that was burning in my stomach.

She took my hands, breathing in deeply through her nose.

"Myka, we cannot continue – we cannot be anything to one another – if you will not talk to me. You are so angry. Please just let it out. I can take it."

The effort she was expending in keeping her own temper in check was clear. Helena was not a patient woman. She was caring, yes, but she wasn't patient when she thought someone was indulging themselves. When she looked at me with that carefully controlled anger, I could see what she would have been like with Christina when she acted out. Or Adelaide. And when I thought that, my nostrils flared and I bit the inside of my lip again.

"All right, Helena," I spat. "You asked. Just remember that."

She nodded, her jaw tight.

"I blame you. You didn't have the right to bring me back. I don't know what to do, how to be. I don't know who I am any more, and you and Claudia and the others, you took away my choice. I was ready to die. It was my time, clearly. And you all decided to keep me here without asking me. It wasn't fair."

Her eyes blazed for a moment, and she took a long breath before speaking, her jaw working.

"Fair, Myka?" she said, laughing bitterly. "Let's talk about fair, shall we? And people taking away your choices? What about the Janus coin? What about Emily bloody Lake?" She spat out the ineffectual teacher's name, her teeth clattering together as she closed her mouth against the rage that was filling her. "Someone else walking about, doing God knows what with your body – that's what it _really_ means to have your choice, your rights, taken away. Your friends and I – we saved your life from the disease that was killing you, and we transferred it into someone else's body, someone who will not suffer as a result – or at least, not any more than they are suffering already. We saved you. Just like you save other people every day from the effects of artefacts. If someone tried to shoot me, you would stop them, would you not?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"So what we did was to save your life from a threat. That's all. No-one forced you to do anything you didn't want to, except to live. And if you don't want to live – well, I can't say I don't understand that impulse. I understand, now, that death – my death – was the most appealing part of my plan with the Trident. I just wanted it to be over. So if that's what you want, go ahead, Myka. You have a gun. No-one is removing your choice in the matter. I don't know why you're so angry about all of this, but I do know that that's not it. We didn't take away your choices. We saved your life."

I took a long breath. She was right, of course. I wouldn't have been angry if she or anyone else had pushed me out of the way of a bullet. So what was it?

"I'm sorry," was what came out of my mouth.

"For what, Myka?" she asked softly, thumbs rubbing gently across my palms. I met her eyes reluctantly.

"You're right. I don't know why I'm so mad, not really. I just…I was ready, you know? I was ready to die. I had made my peace with everything, with us, with losing you. I was ready to let it all go."

She looked at me steadily, her eyes holding mine.

"You did not make your peace with us, Myka. You wouldn't have come to see me, you wouldn't have slept with me and then left the way you did, if you had made your peace with it. Because you must have known how much it would hurt me to wake the next morning to find you gone. And you are not a person who hurts others thoughtlessly, Myka. I think you were so angry, so hurt, that you were glad to be dying. If you were truly at peace with everything and everyone, you would have told your family so that they could make _their_ peace. You would have told me earlier that you were ill so that I could accept it. You would have said goodbye, rather than coming to me the way you did. And leaving me the way you did."

I looked at her for a long moment, a sharp stab of shame making my throat tighten. Her eyes had darkened steadily as we spoke, and they were now nearly indistinguishable from black. I loved her eyes. They were so changeable, they had depths that I felt like I would never truly be able to explore. I nodded, not sure what else to say.

"We can get through this, my love," she said, putting her arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. "I love you. I know that I have hurt you. But we can get through this, I know it. I will do whatever you need, whatever I can to make it up to you. Just please stop shutting me out. Talk to me. Even if it means you shout at me, you want to tell me you hate me – talk to me. Please."

She kissed me softly, and after a moment I nodded again. I rested my head on her shoulder and we stayed there for a long time, quietly watching the view fade as night fell. I was content, in that moment, and there were no sighs, no tapping fingers. Just her warmth next to me, her arm around me, her lips pressed to my hair.

The following day we walked, we talked a little about books, we slept wrapped around one another. Things were awkward, and not, at the same time. I loved her. I knew that. But forgiving her was not going to be as easy as saying those words. Especially since I wasn't entirely sure what I was forgiving her for. Was it that I didn't want to live? I wasn't really sure. I was definitely ready, before, to die. Now I wasn't sure. My mind was no longer clouded by pain and fatigue. I had the potential to live a long life. I had the woman of my dreams beside me, a woman who wanted to be with me forever, if she was to be believed. So what the hell was the problem? Why couldn't I let myself be happy? I brooded, and she watched. The day passed in near perfect silence, and the next day, Abigail was at the kitchen table when I came downstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

"Abigail? What are you doing here?"

"I asked her to come," came Helena's voice from behind me. She was making tea, naturally.

"Why?" I asked flatly, my face set as I turned to face Helena. She winced.

"I thought talking to someone who isn't me might help," she said simply, handing me a cup of tea. I thought for a moment, and then nodded. There were twin sighs of relief from the other two. I ignored them and went to sit outside on the porch. After a few minutes, Abigail followed me.

"She's trying to help, you know," she said, setting her tea on the table and sitting next to me.

"I know," I said shortly. There was a beat of silence, and then she continued.

"I might be able to help, Myka. If you talk to me. I'm not forcing you, but just think about it."

I nodded curtly and she went back into the cabin. After a half hour or so, Helena came out to sit by me.

"Are you terribly upset, Myka?"

I turned to look at her. I couldn't really decide, to be honest.

"I don't know. I know it's probably a good idea. I just wish you'd asked me."

She sighed.

"You would have said no, Myka. We both know that."

She was right, again. It was getting to be a habit. I asked her if she wanted to take a walk, and she agreed, so we went out for a few hours, leaving Abigail to do whatever she pleased with her time. When we came back, I went into the spacious living room, finding Abigail curled up on the couch with a book, looking very peaceful. I almost didn't want to disturb her, but I figured she'd come here to help me, so why not?

"Have you got some time?" I asked, and she looked up, a little startled because she hadn't noticed me walk in.

"Yes, of course," she said, indicating the chair opposite. I sat, tucking my feet up under me.

"So, how have you been since Helena and Claudia cured you?"

Rage flared in my chest.

"Angry."

She nodded.

"Do you know why?"

"I thought I did. Helena said she thinks I'm wrong."

She raised an eyebrow, and I explained. How I thought I had made my peace, and Helena disagreed.

"I must say, I'm inclined to agree with Helena. The last few weeks before they cured you – I would not have used the word peaceful to describe your state of mind. You were so angry, even then. And since they cured you, it seems like it's worse. Did you ever really forgive her for Boone, Myka? I believe you when you say you understand what happened to her to make her try what she tried at Yellowstone, but Boone – that was an altogether different kind of betrayal, a really personal one, in the circumstances. Do you think you've forgiven her for that? Or do you think that's what's still bothering you?"

I shook my head and thought for a long moment before I spoke. When I did, I was hesitant and I had to bite back aggression that I knew wasn't helping me or anyone else.

"I don't know, Abigail. She explained it to me, why she did what she did. I understand it, as much as I can be expected to, but I still want to go back to Wisconsin and punch him. He…he got to be with her, and I know we weren't together; we weren't anything then. But it still feels like she rejected me. I feel sick to my stomach when I think of him or Adelaide."

Abigail lifted an eyebrow at that.

"Why did you go to see him? I'm assuming from the fact that you didn't get arrested that you didn't go there to punch him. So why did you got to Boone?"

"I don't know. I guess I wanted some answers. She wouldn't talk to me because I yelled at her and ran away, and I didn't know what else to do. Everyone was tiptoeing around me, and I was so mad…"

I pushed my hair back from my face with one hand and huffed out a sigh.

"Everyone was tiptoeing around you because we all heard you shouting at Helena, and because you were so obviously pissed off at us all, Myka. You can't expect your moods to have no effect on those around you."

I shot her an irritated look. She held her hands up in surrender.

"Hey, don't take it out on me, Myka. It's true. You have been so damn moody, I don't know how Helena stands being around you."

She was right. I was getting really tired of everyone else being right all the time. I shrugged irritably.

"Just think about things, Myka. If you come to any conclusions, I'll be here. Artie says, and I quote," she said, drawing her eyebrows together in a creditable impression of Artie's usual expression, "tell her to stay there until she's ready to work without killing the rest of us."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. Abigail laughed and walked off, leaving me even more irritated. She was pretty unflappable. I could see why Mrs Frederic had recruited her.

We talked over the next few days, Abigail and I, and she helped me to defuse some of my anger, to think about why Helena would have done what she did. I tried to understand, but I still couldn't, not really. Because for me, it didn't make sense that she would leave me the way she did. I loved her, and if she loved me, then why did she leave? Let alone shack up with some dude and his kid. It came to a head, eventually, when she asked me quietly how my sessions with Abigail were going. She was drying the dishes, and I was sitting at the table drinking tea.

"How do you think they're going, Helena?" I snapped, my anger flaring to life yet again.

"I don't know, Myka. That's why I asked," she said, holding the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger and sighing.

I sighed, too, glaring at her, and that's when she finally cracked. She rounded on me, and for the first time since Yellowstone, I saw her anger and pain unfettered before me.

"Do you really imagine, Myka, that you have the _right_ to be angry with me? After everything that I've been through? You say you love me, yet when I was incarcerated by the Regents, you left me to their tender mercies. I was left in the dark again, terrified. When someone activated that sphere, I never knew whether it had been a day, or an hour, or a month since I'd last been in the world. And all the while someone else was walking around in my body. Can you imagine the scale of that sort of violation? I know what I did was unconscionable, Myka. Of course I do. But it should have been clear to you all that I was ill, and that I needed help. Had I been given the opportunity to mount a defence, any psychiatrist would have found me unfit to stand trial. Instead the Regents locked me away without trial. I ran away from the _Warehouse_ , Myka. Not from you. The Warehouse. Not the place, but the organisation – because they Bronzed me, then they ripped me from my body, and sent my body out with a counterfeit consciousness to do God knows what. I needed time, Myka. Time to heal. If I had thought you would be willing to leave the Warehouse, perhaps I would have asked you to come with me. But I knew you would not, not when there was still so much danger. So please, _try_ to understand why I left. Why I sought a life that would be a little kinder to me than this one has been, even if I was lying to myself."

She was pleading with me, but she was angry, too. I was ashamed. I knew she wasn't in her right mind back then. I let the Regents do what they thought was best because…well, first, because I didn't trust my own judgement after she betrayed us all. And then because it seemed like it was done, and I didn't know how I felt about it all. I didn't know that her body was out there. I thought – we all thought – that she was just in some cell somewhere that she couldn't escape from, and that the Pokéball, as Pete always called it, was just a holographic transfer thing. I didn't realise that her consciousness was actually trapped in there. I…I never asked. I didn't want to know. I looked up at her, and I couldn't honestly think of a thing to say.

"You blame me for leaving you and I understand that, Myka, and I'm sorry. For the hurt I've caused you. But you are not entirely blameless, Myka. You have hurt me too. So continue stamping around like a petulant child if you wish, but do not expect me to put up with it any longer."

She stormed out, and I stayed where I was, gaping. I stayed there for a long time, thinking through what she'd said. I was ashamed, for many reasons. Leaving her in the Janus coin, letting the Regents just do what they wanted with her, and not being brave enough, even after Sykes, to find out where she was. This country had laws that I believed in, and she was right. No matter how awful her intentions had been at Yellowstone, it was true that she wasn't in her right mind. If she had been apprehended by any other law enforcement organisation, she would have had the right to be tried by a jury of her peers, not just Adwin Kosan. She was dangerous back then, yes. But she was suffering, and she was mentally ill. Could I really blame her for leaving the organisation that had inflicted the Bronze and the Janus Coin on her? I had been given a small taste of that horror when Alice took my body and left me in her mirror. I couldn't imagine what it would have been like to stay in there, to know that Alice was doing God knows what with my body for the best part of a year. Emily Lake wasn't Alice, but she was still walking around in Helena's body doing whatever she liked with it. It was a violation the likes of which most people couldn't imagine.

And Helena was right that I shouldn't have slept with her and left. Maybe I wasn't in my right mind then either, but she had forgiven me. I could forgive her.

I went upstairs and heard the water running. She was in the shower. I stripped off and went in after her.

"I'm sorry," I said, as I stepped into the shower stall. I kissed the back of her neck, and she shivered. She turned round, her eyes still angry, but her face was serene. I gave in, then, to what was most likely inevitable. I bent my head a little and I kissed her.

"Are you sure?" she murmured against my lips.

I answered her by kissing her again, more urgently, and we both gave in, then, to each other. It was, this time, as it should have been. Tender, tentative, beautiful. We moved to the bedroom after a while, damp and sweating and moving against one another, our hands and mouths in constant motion. It felt, somehow, like what had broken in me in Boone was being knitted together by the work of her hands. Her mouth, her kisses, they brought me back to myself, to who I had been before. Her eyes were dark and glinting and knowing and loving all at once. She brought me over the edge with those hands that had moulded time itself, her eyes on mine, and I felt healed.

"You can't leave me, Helena. Not again," I murmured, as I began to drift off.

"I promise," she whispered emphatically, leaning down to kiss me. I relaxed myself against her, her arms around me, and I slept.

I didn't wake until the following morning. When I woke she was still wrapped around me. We spent a silent morning together. But it was comfortable, now, and occasionally one of us smiled at the other. Abigail was nowhere to be seen, presumably having absented herself after our fight the night before.

"Can we talk, Myka?" Helena asked unexpectedly after we'd eaten dinner on the porch, the impressive sight of Pike's Peak before us.

"Of course," I said, quietly. I was fairly sure I didn't want to talk any more about things, but she seemed to need it.

"I know that you blame me for staying away. And I understand why. Of course I do. But there is something that I want you to know. I wanted to keep you safe. I have put you in danger so many times, Myka. I was so frightened, after Sykes, that I would be the reason you left this world. And I knew that without you there would be nothing at all to stop me from going completely mad. I knew that without you I would do something unforgiveable. As I almost did before."

She put her head in her hands.

"I realised, when you came to Boone…when you told me about your cancer, that all of that didn't matter."

I shot her an incredulous look. Her fear that she would destroy the world didn't matter?

"Hear me out, Myka, please."

I nodded, saying nothing.

"I realised that it means nothing, any of it. My fears of losing you, of what I might become? They are irrelevant. Because I cannot control those things by staying away from you. The appearance of a bloody artefact on my doorstep in Boone is proof enough of that. And you getting cancer is proof that life is no fairer to you than it is to anyone else."

She was crying. I didn't understand what she was saying.

"What I did by leaving, Myka – I know it was cowardly, not to tell you that I wasn't coming back. But I knew that if I spoke to you, you would talk me out of it. And I was determined to protect you. Because all I have ever done is put you in jeopardy. But it doesn't matter, because the rest of the world will not show you that courtesy. You are not safe, not even from your own body. I am sorry that I left you, Myka. I didn't want to. I knew it would hurt you. I thought it was the lesser evil, but the sacrifice I made by leaving – it means nothing, after all. I tried to be happy in Boone with Nate and Adelaide, tried to forget you, but I've been miserable, Myka. And it was all for nothing, because I couldn't protect you from anything."

I had heard enough. I stood and I pulled her to her feet, wrapping my arms around her and whispering soothing words in her ear. I understood, finally, what she had done and why. And I forgave her, finally. I forgave her because while she had hurt us both, it wasn't because she wanted to lie or live a normal life or any of those things – she did it because she loved me and wanted to protect me. And I couldn't blame her for that, could I?

Abigail left the following morning. The next few days were quiet, spent in a sort of odd domesticity that I wasn't used to. Helena was used to it, after her time with Nate and his daughter. That should have grated on me but it didn't. She made tea – not raspberry and quince, thank the gods, but normal British tea – and cooked, she washed the dishes with a soft smile on her face, she rubbed my feet when we sat on the couch reading or watching television. She was so content, it made me wonder if she'd been like this with her daughter back before she was Bronzed. For someone who had railed so incredibly hard against the confines of a woman's life in the Victorian era, she was settling herself nicely in the role of happy housewife. One morning, she caught me smiling at her. We had spent the whole morning in bed, and she went downstairs and came back up with two cups of tea without me even having to ask.

"What are you smiling at, darling?" she asked as she handed over my tea, making me feel that same stupid jump in my chest that I felt when she first called me 'darling' all those years ago.

I took a sip of the hot drink, giving myself a moment before I said anything. I didn't want to offend her, and I didn't want to make myself angry by thinking about where she'd learned to be like this.

"You look really content. I never imagined you like this, cooking and being a domestic goddess. Well, maybe the bedroom part of domestic, but not the rest of it."

She quirked an eyebrow at me.

"And do you like it?"

I considered.

"I do, I think."

She smiled knowingly.

"But it makes you think that I learned to be like this in Boone, that I learned to be content with domesticity because of Nate?"

I nodded, biting my lip.

"Well, I can set your mind at rest on that point at least, my darling. I was already a domestic goddess, I just hid it well. I learned how to cook as a girl, as every female in my time did. All I learned from spending time in Boone was how to cook more modern food. I never wanted to undertake domestic tasks when I was removed from the Bronze sector. It reminded me too strongly of Christina and of everything I'd lost. It was much easier to reject all that and focus on my plans back then."

She smiled wryly, more to herself than to me.

"When I was released from the Janus coin and after the Astrolabe, I was more than a little lost. I had no more world-ending plans, or any plans at all really, apart from keeping my distance from you and the Warehouse. Taking cooking lessons – it was a way to socialise, along with giving me an opportunity to learn some newer recipes and techniques. And then I met Adelaide. As you pointed out, it was about her and not Nate. I was looking for someone to fill the void in my life and she was the perfect fit. Nate was just a distraction. I very much enjoyed the part of that life that involved looking after a family, however."

It still irked me a little, that he had seen her like this before I got to. But she was so beautiful and content that I couldn't be too mad or jealous.

"It suits you," I said, quietly.

She was settling herself into bed with her tea as I spoke, and she froze, turning to me with a slowly growing smile on her face. I think she had expected me to snap at her or make a snide comment about Nate or Adelaide.

"Thank you," she said, dropping her gaze slightly from mine. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"I love you."

The smile I got in return was luminous. I couldn't possibly have loved her more, I thought, than I did at that moment. I was wrong, of course, but then I was getting used to that when it came to HG Wells.

The following morning I left her in bed and I went for a run. I went on a long loop, and on the way back I stopped on the banks of West Creek, which ran through the property we were staying in. It wasn't a particularly beautiful spot, but something about it just made me feel…still. Still on the inside, like I hadn't been since I first heard the word cancer. Or Boone. I sat down on a flat rock and drank some water. It was warm enough that I was still comfortable as the sweat dried on my body. There were birds singing, faint animal noises from the trees nearby. It was perfect. I stayed there for a half hour or so, and then I walked back. When I got to the chalet, Helena was sitting on the deck drinking tea. There was a pot on the table, and after looking at me with a raised eyebrow, she poured me some. I sat next to her, looking out at the view of Pikes Peak. I drank my tea, and she took my hand, and that was when I knew I would be okay. Because I believed that she would still be holding my hand the next day, and the next day, no matter where we ended up. For the first time since I'd woken up after my impromptu surgery at the Warehouse, I wanted a future, and I wanted it to be with her.

"Thank you," I said. She raised an eyebrow.

"For saving me."

"You're welcome," she murmured, and smiled. I kissed that smile and turned my face up to the sun.


End file.
